He had just stepped out of sight of the U.N.C.L.E. car when another car pulled into the drive-in and parked a few stalls away. A young man jumped out and walked hurriedly up to the driver's side of the U.N. C.L.E. car. Without hesitating, he slid into the driver's seat.
"Dr. Armden, Mr. Kuryakin," he said. "You will obey my orders. Both of you get out of this car and go down to the black sedan. Get in it and sit quietly."
There was no response except a muffled snore from Armden. Muttering to himself, the young man shook Illya and Armden awake, then repeated his orders. The sleeping men roused slowly and stumbled out of the car. The young man had to repeat his instructions a third time before they began walking slowly toward the black car. He watched them a minute to make sure they didn't fall asleep on their feet, and then reached for the ignition key. The key was missing, and he swore feelingly, then got back out and crawled into the car head first so he could get at the wiring under the dash. He was still in this undignified position when there was the sound of squealing tires and the slam of several car doors behind him. Seconds later a bearded face was peering at him through the open door on the passenger's side.
"Hey, that's a tough set of wheels. Never saw one quite like it," the face commented enthusiastically.
"Yeah," came another voice, presumably feminine, from behind him. "What kind is it?"
The man looked up hastily and banged his head on the steering column. "None of your business!" he snapped. "Get out of here; I'm busy."
"Yeah," the feminine voice replied. "We can see. Whatsamatter, you lose your keys?"
"Yes, I lost my keys. Now will you quit bothering me?" He looked toward the rear of the car and saw a big, rectangular box on wheels blocking the U.N.C.L.E. car in completely. "And get that thing out of the way!" he shouted, pointing at the offending object.
"I know how to hot-wire a car," came a polite voice from behind the girl. "I knew a guy who liked to take joy-rides. Anyway, maybe I can help you." A long-haired youth came forward, dropped to his knees and began looking under the dash.
"Wow!" he exclaimed a moment later, "What is all this stuff under here?"
The man stood up and looked around. There were a half dozen of the kids around. According to a blazing red and yellow sign on their car, they were the Thundermugs, whatever that meant. One of the new folk-rock outfits, possibly. He swore under his breath, and walked to the front of the car, where he motioned frantically to the black sedan. A hulking man got out from behind the wheel of the sedan and pushed past Illya and Armden.
"Get these kids out of here, Andy," the smaller man hissed as the hulking one approached. "And get that crate out from behind this car."
"Sure, chief." The large man reached down and plucked the hot-wire expert out of the U.N.C.L.E. car, setting him down none too gently on the asphalt.
The bearded youth came forward, protesting. "Hey, we weren't -"
Andy placed a large hand under his chin and shoved, sending the boy staggering back against his own vehicle. Turning, he reached for a girl who had been sitting on the hood of the U.N.C.L.E. car, patting it and saying "It's cute," to no one in particular. The girl squealed and hopped off the hood on the side opposite Andy.
At this moment, Napoleon came around the corner of the drive-in, carrying a plastic tray loaded with coffee and sandwiches. "Illya! Dr. Armden!" be shouted, dropping the tray. He pulled his gun, and started forward. Illya and Dr. Armden, hearing their names, halted by the side of the black sedan and looked around.
Andy had started to pull his own gun, but the smaller man grabbed him by one arm and headed for the sedan at a run. Napoleon raised his weapon but the kids and then Illya and Dr. Armden were in the line of fire.
The two Thrushes started to force Illya into the car but Napoleon's shouts roused him enough to put up some resistance. The smaller Thrush made a grab for Dr. Armden, but changed his mind as Napoleon approached. He leaped into the sedan instead. His larger companion had already switched on the ignition, and they roared out of the drive-in with squealing tires. Napoleon sent a futile shot after the car as it disappeared down the highway. The Thundermugs, grouped around the U.N. C.L.E. car, looked on with evident enjoyment.
Napoleon stood staring after the departing sedan for a second, then returned his gun to its shoulder bolster, and turned to Illya. "What happened?" be asked.
"He told us to get into his ear," Illya said, in a tone implying that this was a perfectly reasonable request. Not having been addressed, Armden stood quietly, his face blank of expression.
Napoleon looked at them, frowning. They looked straight ahead, at nothing in particular.
"Both of you, raise your right hands," Napoleon said sharply.
Illya and Armden raised their bands, without speaking or changing expression.
Napoleon sighed. "Put your arms back down and go back to our car," he instructed. He walked behind them until they climbed into the car. Unclipping his communicator from his pocket, he called Waverly and reported the situation, while the Thundermugs looked on in respectful silence.
Chapter 7
"The Thing To Do Is Work Out A New Questionnaire"
"SO," NAPOLEON CONCLUDED his explanation to Sascha Curtis and Rita Berman, "the Harrisburg agents took Illya and Dr. Armden on to New York, and I'm back here looking for a place to stay while I investigate what happened. I wouldn't mind having a place nearby to hide that car, either," he added. "It's a bit conspicuous."
"Amazing, perfectly amazing," Curtis said. "Must be some sort of drug; it couldn't be anything else. Though I don't," he added thoughtfully, "know of any current drug which would produce just that reaction."
"Thrush is quite adept at producing new drugs, if that's what it is," Napoleon replied. "I'm still not certain it isn't some sort of instant hypnotism."
"And the hotel wouldn't give you a room, you say?" Curtis remarked. "I can't think that they're really that full. As far as I know, that hotel has never been filled to capacity."
"Could the hotel manager be a Thrush?" Rita inquired.
"If he was, he'd have made room for me if he had to throw someone else out," Napoleon explained. "Thrush would like nothing better than to have me where they can keep an eye on me. It's more likely that the manager is affected by the same anti-U.N.C.L.E. influence that has struck the rest of the town. That doesn't seem like a drug; one can do wonders with modern drugs, but transferring prejudices seems a bit extraordinary."
"But you had a room in the hotel before," Sascha protested.
"The manager didn't know who we were before," Napoleon said. "He does, now; he was quite hostile about the lack of rooms."
"I know!" Rita exclaimed. "My cousin Lem will rent you a room, and you can keep your car in his barn."
Curtis looked dubious. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Lem Thompson isn't the friendliest soul in the world."
"Oh, he'll do it if I ask him," Rita assured them. "Come on, let's drive out there now, before my next class."
"Wait a minute," Napoleon said. "Who's Lem Thompson, where does he live, and if he lives far enough from town to own a barn, how can I keep the U.N.C.L.E. car hidden and still get back and forth?"
"He's a distant cousin of mine, he has a farm just outside of town, and I can drive you back and forth," Rita explained. "I never knew any real spies before, and I intend to make the most of my opportunity. In a pinch, you could walk there and back, though; it's only a couple of miles from town."
Napoleon finally consented and Rita happily led the way to her car.
Lemuel Thompson was repairing a tractor hitch with a portable welder when Rita arrived in her car, followed by Napoleon in the U.N.C.L.E. vehicle. He shut off the welder and listened, none too patiently, while Rita explained matters.
"Know anything about farming?" he asked Napoleon.
"Nothing," Napoleon said.
"What I thought. Okay, you can stay here, since you're a friend of Rita's. But keep out of my way and don't expect any special attention. I run t
his place pretty much by myself, and it keeps me too busy to mess with secret agents and public images." He spat contemptuously. "Right now I got to get back to this tractor if I'm going to get my fall plowing done. Rita, you take him in and introduce him to Betsy."
"I see what Professor Curtis meant," Napoleon commented as they walked to the house. "He isn't the friendliest person in the world."
"Oh, Lem is the epitome of the grouch with the heart of gold. It's well buried, but it's there if you dig deep enough. At least he isn't being unfriendly because you're an U.N.C.L.E. agent."
"No, he's just being unfriendly on general principles. I suppose that's an improvement."
They entered the house, where Betsy Thompson, a plump, bustlingly likeable individual, showered them with enough friendliness to make up for her husband's manner. Napoleon was shown to a room, provided with washcloths and towels, and taken on a quick tour of the house, while Betsy and Rita discussed U.N.C.L.E., hypnotism, doctors, Lem's backache, and the lack of rain, Rita's classes, and the latest exploits of Eyre the wombat, whose numerous escapes had apparently made him a local celebrity. Napoleon finally managed to get in a few words to explain that he really should get back to town and do a little investigating.
"And I have to get back to class!" Rita exclaimed, looking at her watch. "If I cut it any more, I'm liable to flunk. It's pretty dull, but I have to make a passing grade, at least."
They started the drive back to town, with Rita humming happily. "Betsy will certainly be happy to have you," she said. "She always enjoys cooking, and Lem usually refuses to eat anything fancier than steak, potatoes, hamburger and apple pie. If he feels exceptionally exotic, he might try a plate of spaghetti. It's one of Betsy's perpetual frustrations; fixing kosher meals for me is about the only fun she gets in the cooking line."
"In that case, let's hope that Illya gets back soon," Napoleon said. "He knows some unusual Russian recipes, and -"
He was interrupted by the beeping of his communicator. Rita glanced sideways as he removed the pen-like device from his pocket and spoke into it.
"Solo here."
"Ah, Mr. Solo," came the voice of Waverly. "I trust you're well-rested and alert. You sounded a bit ragged the last time I spoke to you."
"Yes, sir," Napoleon replied. "I got some sleep be fore driving back here. Have Illya and Dr. Armden arrived safely?"
"Yes, that's the reason I called. We've been running tests on them, and we've discovered significant amounts of an unusual drug in their systems. As yet, we have been unable to identify the compound."
"A drug?" Rita burst in. "Are they all right?"
"I take it you're not alone, Mr. Solo?"
"Mr. Waverly, may I present Rita - what is your last name?
"Berman."
"Besides being a pretty girl, she's a friend of Professor Curtis and also of U.N.C.L.E. And right now it looks like U.N.C.L.E. needs friends out here." He held the communicator out to her. "Miss Berman, this is Mr. Waverly - and keep your eyes on the road!" he added quickly.
"How did they get you in that little thing, Mr. Waverly?" she asked. "Are you a genie?"
"Not precisely, Miss Berman," Waverly returned, unperturbed. "Although I sometimes suspect that certain of my agents consider me in that light. Now, Mr. Solo, do you have any idea of how Mr. Kuryakin and Dr. Armden could have been given the drug when you weren't?"
Napoleon, who had been staring at Rita to make sure she was joking, jerked his attention back to the communicator. "I can't be sure, sir, but I suspect it might have occurred at our last previous stop. There was a rather obnoxious elderly man there who insisted on joining us while we ate. He had the opportunity to doctor Illya's coffee, and he insisted on buying me a cup which Dr. Armden drank. I kept my own food out of his reach; we considered him merely a nuisance, but I dislike having people wave their hands over my food. How is Illya? Is he still under the influence of the drug?"
"They both seem to be coming out of it, though Dr. Armden appears to be somewhat more susceptible than Mr. Kuryakin. We haven't been able to do much for them, since we haven't identified the drug. Both men appear to be totally without will power; they obey orders without initiative. One more thing which may have a bearing on your problem; both subjects appear to believe implicitly whatever they are told."
Napoleon was silent for a moment before replying. "I suppose we can assume that Armden was given some of the drug last Sunday when we lost him at the airport, and then given orders and turned loose in Midford. It would seem logical to assume that the drug is involved with the rest of the Midford problem."
"I quite agree, Mr. Solo, but there are a number of things which this hypothesis fails to explain.
"I know. There is the problem of administering any drug to an entire population. Until these last incidents, no one seems to have displayed any lack of initiative. So they couldn't have just been fed the drug and ordered to hate U.N.C.L.E. Besides, while Dr. Armden was rational yesterday he didn't remember anything like that. Of course, he didn't recall any other unusual circumstances, either; he seemed completely bewildered by his behavior."
"Yes, Mr. Solo. He is showing signs of the same phenomenon now that he is beginning to throw off the drug's influence again. Both he and Mr. Kuryakin remember the attempted kidnapping yesterday. The affair is indeed a puzzle."
"Miss Berman is driving me to the university to talk with Professor Curtis again. Perhaps he can shed some light on the subject."
"Very well, Mr. Solo. Let me know your findings." The communicator went dead in Waverly's usual abrupt fashion and Napoleon replaced it in his pocket. He looked up as Rita swung the car into the university parking lot. She dashed for her class while Napoleon strolled toward the Liberal Arts building. On the way, he noticed Professor Dodd peering intently into a patch of shrubbery; apparently Eyre was loose again.
"Get settled at Thompson's?" Curtis inquired as he entered.
Napoleon nodded. "I discovered what you meant about him not being friendly, but he agreed to let me stay if I kept out of his way."
Curtis nodded. "That's normal, which is a relief. I shudder to think of Lem Thompson infected with an active dislike of an organization. What's next on your agenda?"
"Seeing you, at the moment. How's the survey coming?
Curtis's eyes lit up. "Quite well, quite well. It's absolutely amazing. We've covered almost half the families already, and so far..." He turned to the desk and burrowed through several stacks of paper. "So far," he continued, "one hundred and eleven families include one or more members who are hostile to U.N.C.L.E. in varying degrees. The amount of hostility varies from pronounced dislike to absolutely white-lipped fury. Frankly, I hadn't realized there were that many people in town who had even heard of U.N.C.L.E."
He laid the paper back on the desk, and looked at Napoleon. "And not a single individual - not one! - can give a rational explanation of his or her feelings!"
"What's their opinion of Thrush?"
"The reactions there are about what I would expect. Most people have never heard of it. A few recognize the name dimly as that of an international organization but are indifferent to it, while about the same number know of its ambition to conquer the world and are opposed to it. Of course there are one or two in favor of its ambition to conquer the world; you get that sort in any opinion poll. Actually, the only anomaly is the anti-U.N.C.L.E. bias, and what seems to be a linked dislike of charities. I confess I don't quite perceive the connection."
"Is there any pattern you can see? Any group, area, occupation, that is more strongly anti-U.N.C.L.E. than the norm?"
"I haven't begun that phase of the survey yet," Curtis explained. "I had intended to wait until all results were in. But if you're impatient..." He picked up a stack of papers and riffled through them.
"There's one apparent pattern," he announced finally. "Of course, any snap judgment such as this is subject to verification by a more thorough analysis, you understand. However, I see that almost the entire tec
hnical staff of Falco Industries is in the anti-U.N.C.L.E. group."
"That begins to sound like Thrush," Napoleon observed. "Scientists and technicians are their favorite game. That can't account for everyone, though; surely Falco doesn't have that large a technical staff."
Curtis shook his head. "No, and some of these others simply don't fit any pattern that I can see. Perhaps a more detailed analysis will turn up something. But, for example, here's a young man who pumps gas at Joe's Friendly Service. He's not the world's brightest individual; the last noteworthy thing he did was play on the high school basketball team. And here's old Eleazar, the college janitor. Or custodian, as I believe he prefers to be called; he hasn't heard about maintenance engineers yet. I've never heard him discuss anything more intellectual than the latest spy gadget on a TV show. Yet here he is, expressing doubts about international security organizations."
"How about women?" Napoleon asked. "Are they exempt?
"No, there are a few on the list. Not many, though; not nearly as many as men. However, I would expect that; women are inherently more stable than men."
"Thank you for the kind words," Rita said as she entered. "The class was cancelled today - it would be, just when I'd made a firm resolve to attend - so I came back to pick up pointers on intrigue. Now just reassure me that you meant stable as in personality and not as in horse-stall, and go on with the discussion. I'm all ears."
"Stop identifying with television personalities," Curtis reproved her. She made a face at him.
"I don't think inherent stability has much to do with it," Napoleon said, wrenching the conversation back to its former course.
"Oh?" Curtis looked up from the papers. "Thrush, you mean?'
"More specifically, I meant a new and apparently unknown drug which Thrush seems to have developed."
Curtis looked crestfallen. "I suspected it was too good to be true," he said. Napoleon stared at him. "About the entire town undergoing a psychological change," he explained. "It's really too bad. Although," he looked thoughtful, "I can't quite see how a prejudice could be inculcated by the use of drugs. At the very least there would have to be a command or suggestion accompanying the drug; I suppose a drug that would heighten suggestibility is possible. Are you sure?"
The Mind-Twisters Affair Page 6
